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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29710296">Wild About You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioplast_hero/pseuds/bioplast_hero'>bioplast_hero</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternative Reality - Fantasy, First Times, Intimacy, Keith getting fucky with plants, M/M, Magic, Nature spirit Shiro, Praise Kink, floraphilia, softe, surreal sexy times</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:41:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,780</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29710296</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioplast_hero/pseuds/bioplast_hero</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith has always been sensitive to the pulse of life around him, making him something of a pariah in town. He takes refuge in the hills, protected by a magic that doesn’t have a name — but knows his. </p><p>Or, how Keith falls in love with a nature spirit and has sex with a meadow :kiss: you’re welcome!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keith/Shiro (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>203</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Wild About You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A soft little idea that's maybe less cursed than it sounds? Ha, maybe.</p><p>Contains animate plant shenanigans and a couple of surreal dreams. If nature makes your skin crawl, I don't wanna herb your enthusiasm... but maybe it wasn't mint to be.</p><p>And thank you <a>Sasha</a> for the ‘getting fucky with plants’ tag that this fic would be incomplete without.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Tunic torn and skin stinging from the lash, Keith flees from torchlight and the shouts of townsfolk into the night. He kicks off his remaining sandal, unsure if he’ll regret the impulse later, but the kiss of packed earth and grasses between his toes is grounding.</p><p class="p1">It’s a warm night, almost too warm where his skin burns bright with welts. People have been cruel for as long as Keith can remember, but nothing to top the terror of being dragged from his bedroll with bruising hands and cries of <em>witch.</em></p><p class="p1">Is that what he is?</p><p class="p1">Keith feels things. The world has always been more alive to him than others seem to notice, or care to. He remembers standing paralyzed while the woodsman sharpened his axe, preparing to fell the gnarled old tree in the center of village. Keith was nine. He cried out to stop the whole thing, but it was no use. With every swing, he felt the pain like it was his own, rending his own limb. He heard wolves howling and thought they felt it, too.</p><p class="p1">Maybe he heard things he shouldn’t; maybe feeling too much was a crime.</p><p class="p1">It was one thing to be an orphan boy with a reputation for taking in injured creatures and failing to mind his own damn business. Most folk overlook that sort of thing, so long as you’re useful enough to keep around. It was another to be peculiar still as a young man with strange opinions and unusual indigo eyes.</p><p class="p1">As the talk grew, it was harder and harder for Keith to find board, excepting the more unscrupulous characters on the edge of town.</p><p class="p1">When they called him a witch, he thought he should have seen it coming, possibly for years. But he hadn’t. He’d never done anything <em>magical,</em> had he? Keith didn’t think so, but it didn’t matter. Men fear what they don’t understand.</p><p class="p1">The mob had him and he frankly didn’t stand a chance, but then something spooked them. To Keith, it was only a warm wind. It passed through the crowd like a cresting wave, shrieks of <em>what was that?!</em> and <em>devil’s breath</em> piercing the night.</p><p class="p1">Keith crouched low, dove between knees as his attackers tripped over each other in their haste to flee. The cuts and bruises weren’t nearly so bad as what they set out to do with him; he faired much better, in the end, under their boots than in their hands. This he could heal from.</p><p class="p1">Deep in the woods, the night air grows cooler and it soothes like a balm. Keith’s limbs ache and droop with exhaustion. He stumbles and more softly than seems possible, pillowed in dense clover and vines between the roots of great trees.</p><p class="p1">Tendrils brush along his flank as he slips into sleep, unsure of what’s real.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">#</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Keith wakes from strange dreams. He saw a world drained of color, like how the moon might look up close, milky-white and bright with deep shadows.</p><p class="p1">The vision is already fading, but Keith is sure there were butterflies. He grasps at the thought— the tickle of tiny feet and the rush of so many wings, pulsing with life. Together they made a sound like a voice, hazy and slow to reach his ears.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Shhhhh, hush now…</em>
</p><p class="p1">Opening his eyes, he’s nowhere like that. Keith finds himself stretched out at the edge of a meadow under the arms of an elm, nestled between the roots in dappled light. His hands find clover and fiddleheads as he pushes himself up to see a sloping field full to the brim with wildflowers. From night to day, he’s overwhelmed by all the colors, every hue weaving in the sunlight.</p><p class="p1">There’s dried blood on his knuckles. Keith remembers the struggle with the mob, once he tries, though the fear and hurt feels veiled somehow, replaced with unexpected calm. He finds a smarting cut at his eyebrow, feeling how his skin flakes with blood and grime as he squints up at the morning sun through the usual tangle of his hair.</p><p class="p1">Keith really thought he knew these woods, but he doesn’t know this place. He must have stumbled much farther than he realized in the dark. It’s a strange bit of luck, but not unwelcome.</p><p class="p1">All things considered, he could be much worse off than this.</p><p class="p1">Keith hears running water and decides to follow the sound. He’s sluggish with aches but still light enough on his feet, weaving through dense brush. Switches snag at the gaps in his tunic and scrape past his skin, but there’s almost none of the familiar sting.</p><p class="p1">Falling to his knees by a meager stream, he cups his hands for a drink. He has to hope the water’s fine out here. He can’t return to town… he doesn’t even want to, truth be told. If he can survive out here, he’d choose that.</p><p class="p1">He prefers nature’s company any day.</p><p class="p1">The water is cold as Keith cleans his face, his arms, everywhere the mob grabbed him. He feels better as soon as he’s washed them all away.</p><p class="p1">Retrieving his tunic and sash, he studies where the mid back is torn, the badly fraying shoulder. He wonders if he can mend it, but then… why should he bother?</p><p class="p1">If anyone did find him here, he would be quite a sight— some kind of wildling, probably completely feral. But that’s honest enough. He’s weary of pretending to be something he’s not.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">#</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Is… there someone there?”</p><p class="p1">Keith isn’t sure why his voice shakes. He lays in the meadow, tucked close to wildflowers and rustling grasses. He hasn’t wholly moved from this spot for hours, watching the shifting clouds and ambling lady beetles and catching snatches of rest for moments at a time. But whenever he nods off, he feels someone near and jerks himself awake again, poking his head up to search around.</p><p class="p1">There’s never anyone there— only a feeling.</p><p class="p1">But Keith trusts his feelings.</p><p class="p1">“I won’t bite,” he mutters. “I mean, unless you deserve it.”</p><p class="p1">Keith thinks he hears a laugh, although he’s pretty sure it made no sound? He’d still swear by it, an unmistakable snort of amusement. Then nothing happens, no one emerges from the shadows, and he starts to doubt.</p><p class="p1">Eventually his stomach complains, and really it should. Keith could’ve spent the day looking for something to eat, but hunger is an old companion and he’s calm in a way he can’t remember ever feeling in his life. Maybe he’s just tired from running so damn far.</p><p class="p1">The sun will sink beneath the tree line soon, though the breeze carries the promise of a warm night. He’ll have to forage tomorrow and give some thought to shelter, but there’s no reason he can’t lay out under the stars for another night.</p><p class="p1">His stomach groans again, more loudly than before.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>You’re hungry.</em>
</p><p class="p1">Keith startles up into a crouch, looking for <em>who</em> or <em>what</em> he heard. There’s no one there, nothing to see. Yeah, tell that to his racing heart.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Please, eat.</em>
</p><p class="p1">They aren’t words, not exactly. They bloom inside Keith’s mind, a rich and soundless voice that leaves him shuddering.</p><p class="p1">“Who are you?” Keith huddles low in the field, half-hiding and whispering to absolutely no one. When no reply is forthcoming, that’s almost worse. “Alright. So I’m losing my mind.”</p><p class="p1"><em>You are not,</em> someone answers.</p><p class="p1">“Says the meadow,” Keith huffs, rolling his eyes.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Believe what you like.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“Wait, no,” Keith stammers, grasping at the air. “I was rude.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>You weren’t. I intruded. </em>
</p><p class="p1">“You didn’t.” Keith slides back down to sit where the grasses are warm from his skin.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>You’ll have to forgive me. I haven’t… spoken in a long time. I may not have a knack for it.</em>
</p><p class="p1">Keith blinks around at the fading afternoon. He knows he’s searching the trees and the wisps of cloud for something he won’t find: a face, a person. This is something else.</p><p class="p1">“So why <em>are</em> you talking to me? If you, um, don’t usually talk.”</p><p class="p1">Maybe it was the wrong thing to ask. The voice is quiet.</p><p class="p1">If Keith is losing his mind, this doesn’t seem so bad. The breeze is warm and even the silence feels like good company.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>It seemed worth a try.</em>
</p><p class="p1">Keith blinks, glancing around. “Oh?”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I hoped not to frighten you. But you will have to eat, if you are to regain your strength.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“A thoughtful meadow.”</p><p class="p1">If the breeze could sigh with exasperation, it just did.</p><p class="p1">“I mean, I wouldn’t mind eating.” Keith glances around. “Um, have any suggestions?”</p><p class="p1">This time he’s sure he hears a laugh, frustrated and fond.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Must I do everything, then?</em>
</p><p class="p1">As the thought washes through Keith’s mind, he hears the thrum of bees. He’s noticed them here and there throughout the day, moving between flowers with a singular dedication. But now he can here that there are quite a few buzzing close by.</p><p class="p1">Keith climbs to his feet, curious and a little hopeful. A few paces away he finds alpine strawberries, lots and lots of them. The tiny red fruits trail through the grasses, sun-warmed and smelling sweet.</p><p class="p1">They were not there before, not when Keith stumbled out of the woods this morning. He knows he would have tripped right through them.</p><p class="p1">“How?”</p><p class="p1"><em>Eat, </em>the voice says, <em>and I’ll tell you.</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">#</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The next day, Keith hears voices while he’s deep in the woods, harvesting fiddleheads and nuts he might be able to crack between smooth stones. He’s been talking to himself for what feels like hours, hoping to draw out the thought-voice from the day before. Wondering if he did something wrong, if the voice is silent.</p><p class="p1">No matter what he tries, there’s no answer, not unless he counts the white butterflies that trail after him silently, so much like the white-washed dreams that he can’t make sense of.</p><p class="p1">What he hears instead of the voice he seeks are those of the men from town, swiping roughly through brush with dull tools. They’ve come looking for their scapegoat, their vengeance unsated.</p><p class="p1">Keith forgets his harvest and flees. The men haven’t spotted him, not yet, but there are so many of them that if they do, he won’t stand a chance.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Climb!</em>
</p><p class="p1">“What?” Keith gasps softly as he runs, leaping past roots and strong vines, and brambles he doesn’t remember being there before.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Up ahead, do you see it?</em>
</p><p class="p1">Keith looks and startles to find fungi forming before his eyes in the bark of several trees. The mushrooms stand out from the trunks, white half-moons like the rungs of a ladder. Keith scrambles for the first of these, hauling himself up the steps into the lowest branches. He swings up from there until he’s well-hidden by the canopy. Looking down, the ladder shrinks back until he would never have noticed it at all.</p><p class="p1">Men shout to one another, hacking through vines with ever more difficulty. Keith feels each cut as he always has, muffling pained whimpers with his fist. But the forest bites back. Thorns that weren’t there before draw blood and leave the men cursing, and worse when they start to itch. Tendrils of vine trip one man headfirst into the briar, hollering in agony at the foot of the tree where Keith hides.</p><p class="p1">They scream and scramble, retreating back down the hillside until their shouts fade away completely. Keith doesn’t make a sound until he’s sure they’re all gone.</p><p class="p1">“Wow,” Keith sighs. He’s shocked by what he just saw— now <em>that</em> was magic, surely— but Keith didn’t do it. He rests a palm against the trunk of the tree, whispering, “Are you alright?”</p><p class="p1"><em>Yes,</em> comes the mysterious voice, somehow thinner than before, like it strains to reach him from much further away. <em>But I need to rest. You can come down. You’ll be safe.</em></p><p class="p1">Keith feels the presence leaving before he can answer. Looking down, he finds the mushroom ladder waiting for him again. Most of the bramble is gone like it was never there at all. But there is a stand of blackberries where the townsman fell, very heavy with dark fruit. It makes Keith’s heart squeeze.</p><p class="p1">“Th- thank you,” he says to the wind.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">#</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">When the presence comes back, Keith is ready for it.</p><p class="p1">“You saved me,” Keith says in a quiet voice. He’s stretched out in the meadow again, watching the sky catch fire with oranges and pinks. His belly is full— truly full, for the first time in almost as long as he can remember.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>We saved each other.</em>
</p><p class="p1">Keith shakes his head. “But I’ve never—”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>You have. So many times.</em>
</p><p class="p1">Keith blinks. “I still don’t know who you are.” When there’s no answer, he starts guessing. “Are you a… ghost?”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>No, I am not dead. I was never alive.</em>
</p><p class="p1">Keith considers this, unsure they mean the same thing by living. Keith’s never felt life so keenly as when the other is near, feeling something like life itself.</p><p class="p1">“What do I call you?”</p><p class="p1">The voice hesitates. <em>I haven’t ever had a name.</em></p><p class="p1">“Oh, well,” Keith twists his fingers idly in the tall grass. “Would you… like to have a name?”</p><p class="p1">The silence is so long, Keith decides that the voice doesn’t mean to answer. He watches the last of the little white butterflies flit from the clearing. It’s a good time to go, he guesses, before bats start taking to the sky and filling their bellies. The grasses catch the breeze, rustling against Keith’s bare legs. It’s soothing. Keith feels his breath slow, content to stay right here.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>What would you name me?</em>
</p><p class="p1">Keith feels a little thrill dance up his spine. He thinks his watcher must be something ancient, maybe immortal. A power he can’t possibly understand. How can Keith possibly name a god?</p><p class="p1">He thinks of wisps of cloud, of sunlight and moonlight. Of butterflies, white fungi and dandelion seeds in the air. When the other is near, he feels like life, like light. Like the strangely bright dreams.</p><p class="p1">“Shiro,” Keith murmurs, swallowing thickly. “I would call you Shiro.”</p><p class="p1">The grass sways close in a swirl of wind and Keith decides to think of that like a smile. He smiles back.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I like that.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“I’m Keith.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I know your name.</em>
</p><p class="p1">It stops Keith’s breath. “What?”</p><p class="p1"><em>Your gift,</em> Shiro says simply, like it’s obvious. <em>You’ve felt me since you were a child. Haven’t you?</em></p><p class="p1">“I guess I have.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>You always defended me, didn’t you? Even without knowing why. I noticed.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“I…” He doesn’t know what to say. He remembers the injured birds he’d sheltered while they healed, the trees he couldn’t bear to see felled. The small creatures he’d cup between his hands and carry outside. “It felt like no one could hear them but me. They were defenseless.”</p><p class="p1"><em>No, </em>Shiro answers. <em>They weren’t, because of you.</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">#</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Morning comes slowly, dawn creeping and not quite piercing the clouds. Everything is shrouded in a blue haze and chill with dew.</p><p class="p1">Keith isn’t cold, not really. That isn’t why he shivers. The meadow seems to have grown taller sometime in the night; he’s cloaked in fescue, bee-balm and forget-me-nots, keeping the dew off his skin.</p><p class="p1">“Shiro?” Keith whispers, his breath fogging against the deep blue sky.</p><p class="p1"><em>I’m here,</em> comes the answer. <em>You’re shivering.</em></p><p class="p1">“I’m not cold,” he says. Far from it; Keith shifts his legs against the kiss of petals and leaves, feeling heat rising to his cheeks. “I guess that’s mostly thanks to you.”</p><p class="p1">The meadow rustles, almost shy.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Is it too much?</em>
</p><p class="p1">“No,” Keith sighs. He shifts his shoulders to stretch before relaxing back into the touch of the earth. He feels almost cradled. “Can you feel me?”</p><p class="p1">The question hangs in the air for a long moment. Keith holds his breath.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Yes.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“Wow,” Keith whispers. Shiro laughs, the feeling featherlight in the boy’s mind. “What?”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>You like that, do you?</em>
</p><p class="p1">Keith can’t respond to that. He has too many questions. “Can I see you?”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>No, Keith. There’s… nothing to see.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“Well, I know that’s not true,” Keith says, a smile pulling at his lips. He looks up at the tree at the edge of the clearing. “I think you’re beautiful.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I’m not the tree, Keith.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“But you kind of are, aren’t you?” He laughs. “You feel it… when the tree leaves shake, or when I touch the grass?”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I… do.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“Maybe I don’t know how it works, but if you can feel, aren’t you at least a little bit in the field and the trees?”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>In a way, I guess.</em>
</p><p class="p1">Keith smiles at his victory. “You’re the… flowers, the vines. The sunlight.”</p><p class="p1"><em>If I’m that, then I’m the rain and the thorns, too,</em> Shiro answers wryly. <em>And the sharp rock in your shoe.</em></p><p class="p1">“Good thing I don’t have any shoes,” Keith laughs again. His chest shakes with it. If he concentrates, he thinks he feels Shiro trying very hard not to laugh.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>You’re impossible.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“I’ve heard that before.” Keith shrugs. “I’d kind of forgotten what it was like? To have someone looking after me, I guess.”</p><p class="p1">A bird croons nearby. Keith listens to the morning sounds and watches the sky brightening by degrees. He doesn’t move, not wanting the moment to shatter.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I’d forgotten, too.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">#</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The day warms as the clouds break apart. Keith naps with a full belly in the dappled shade. He dreams in white again. Butterflies, hundreds of them, crowd close to his skin, blanketing him. They beat the air with countless silver-white wings, lifting him. He feels free, euphoric. His back arches. For a moment he’s floating, then—</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Keith!</em>
</p><p class="p1">He opens his eyes with a gasp, coming in his clothes. The pleasure is intense, unexpected. His waking mind struggles to make any sense of it. It was a good feeling, almost unsettlingly so… but nothing about the dream felt sexual. Powerful, maybe. Important, like feeling the pulse of life itself. If Shiro was there, then maybe he was.</p><p class="p1">But not like sex, right? Keith knows precious little about that, admittedly, but that was nothing like any wet dream he’s ever had.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Keith, I’m sorry.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“What?” Keith scrambles to sit upright, pulling his knees to his chest in his soiled clothes. “I… Can I have a minute, please?” Keith feels shame heat his cheeks. He’s hot all over with embarrassment and the something like lust. There must be something wrong with him. “I, um. I need to go wash up,” he squeaks.</p><p class="p1"><em>Of course,</em> Shiro says. <em>Forgive me, I will... leave you.</em></p><p class="p1">“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”</p><p class="p1">But he’s gone.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">#</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Keith hurries to the stream. It’s a little wider than the first time, a little <em>warmer.</em> Keith thinks Shiro did that for him and feels even guiltier for it. He scrubs his body and his clothes, gently wringing and draping the tunic over a branch to dry. The thing may hang from his shoulders in tatters, but something like modesty insists he keep wearing at least that much. The thought of Shiro seeing him naked, well, it’s…</p><p class="p1">It should be nothing. What does an immortal, formless being care whether he covers himself? But to Keith, it’s overwhelming. And he feels more than a little betrayed by his body as it is.</p><p class="p1">What did Shiro feel, when it happened?</p><p class="p1">Why was he sorry?</p><p class="p1">Keith stands naked under the canopy. He knows Shiro isn’t here, not now, yet he imagines how it would feel if he was. Keith feels exposed, flustered… aroused. He’s growing hard again, just thinking of Shiro looking at him and seeing his very human desire manifest in the flesh. Would he like that?</p><p class="p1">Once he really starts to think about it, Keith can’t reign it in. He remembers the breeze like the caress of someone’s breath. Young branches scrape lightly like fingernails. The moist forest floor kisses his toes.</p><p class="p1">Shiro watched him come and, shameful or no, Keith likes that he did.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">#</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Shiro hasn’t returned and Keith can’t sleep. He tucked himself into the deep meadow and watched the moon rise slowly, hours creeping by until he finally feels his mysterious companion slink silently into his space.</p><p class="p1">“I was worried,” Keith says right away.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I did not mean to cause you worry.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here now.” Keith shifts from his side onto his back, mulling how much to say. “I missed you.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>You did?</em>
</p><p class="p1">He nods. A light breeze kicks up, stirring the meadow. Keith likes how the trumpet vines sway in the moonlight, their tight coils of white blooms ready for the morning when they’ll unfurl for the sun and start to blush at the tips.</p><p class="p1">Keith wonders if Shiro likes the way it feels, the touch of sunlight warm on his petals. Or the other way around, perhaps? He’s the sun shining down on the flowers, easy with his praise, encouraging them to thrive.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I think you’re too good to me, Keith.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“You’re wrong,” he insists. “You are good.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>How do you know?</em>
</p><p class="p1">“I just do,” Keith says. “Because I know now you’re what I’ve always felt. The reason I feel less alone by myself under a tree than I ever feel with other people. The things that felt right and safe, they were you all along.”</p><p class="p1">Keith has to think the breeze is all Shiro’s doing, and the next gust is warmer, like a heated breath on Keith’s chilled skin. The meadow grasses sway closer, tickling his arms with a feathered touch. The feeling that bubbles up is playful and warm. He feels bold with it.</p><p class="p1">“I want to be good. For you.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Oh Keith.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“Is that wrong?”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>No, no, I- you are good, Keith. You’re perfect.</em>
</p><p class="p1">The meadow is alive and ever-changing, vines reaching down to find Keith, touch him. The trumpet blooms dance around him, long buds growing heavy, knocking into his knees and dabbing his skin like cool lips.</p><p class="p1">“Shiro,” Keith sighs. “I feel like you’re kissing me.”</p><p class="p1">The silence is thick like honey, but there’s no retreat. Keith feels each touch like a confession.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Do you want me to kiss you?</em>
</p><p class="p1">“Yes.” He mouths the word when he can’t seem to give it breath. He watches as a moonlit trumpet unfurls, petal tips pressing softly against his thigh. Once, twice. Keith’s heart gallops. “I feel you.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I know it isn’t much.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“No, it’s everything. To me.”</p><p class="p1">Keith watches another long flower unwind near his shoulder, trailing closer until the petals brush Keith’s cheek. It’s so shockingly tender, so perfectly what he needed, he has to blink back tears.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Keith, no, don’t cry—</em>
</p><p class="p1">“Don’t stop,” Keith pleads. “Please don’t stop.”</p><p class="p1">The flower traces his face, feeling so like fingertips searching the shape of his features in the dark. The petals graze his eyelids, slide across the bow of his lips and press sweetly at the corner of his mouth.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>You should sleep.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“How can I sleep?” Keith smiles up at the moon and faint stars. “I don’t want to miss a moment of this.” He shudders as the trumpet trails down his neck, nuzzling into his collarbone.</p><p class="p1"><em>Don’t be ridiculous,</em> Shiro says. <em>I’ll be here in the morning.</em></p><p class="p1">“Is that a promise?”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I’m not going anywhere.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">#</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Keith wakes up to a riot of color, more and more each time he opens his eyes. It’s partly the contrast from the strange white dreams, but it’s also completely real. The field is full of blooms— towering hollyhocks, beardtongue and snapdragon. There’s a bright poppy waving by his shoulder, and the trumpet vines from the night before, deep flutes of white with pink-painted tips.</p><p class="p1">“So many flowers,” Keith says wonderingly.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>You seem to like them.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“I like lots of things,” he grumbles, blushing. “I mean, they are beautiful. It feels like you’re really here.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>As much as I can be.</em>
</p><p class="p1">Keith climbs to his knees, leaning close to one of the trumpets. He strokes the petals, soft under his fingers, before leaning down and pressing the bloom to his lips.</p><p class="p1">He swears the petals part further. If a flower could look surprised, this one does.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Keith!</em>
</p><p class="p1">“Good morning,” he says with a grin. “Don’t sound so scandalized.”</p><p class="p1"><em>I’m- I am not,</em> Shiro scoffs.</p><p class="p1">“Sure,” Keith teases. “I believe you completely.” He watches bees swing from one bloom to another, digging deep for courage. “Shiro… what happened to me yesterday?”</p><p class="p1"><em>I… I tried to reach you in your dreams</em>.</p><p class="p1">Keith blinks up at the sky. “I think you might have.”</p><p class="p1">He feels Shiro cringe. <em>I should have asked you, first.</em></p><p class="p1">“Is that why I…” Words fail him, insufficient for what he felt. He knows Shiro saw.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I thought if I tried, that maybe you could see me that way, something like my true form. I swear, I had no idea you would react as you did. When I realized, I tried to wake you, but—</em>
</p><p class="p1">“But it was too late.” Keith swallows, remembering how his orgasm crashed through his senses without warning. “Did it feel good to you?”</p><p class="p1">The silence is long and loud. Keiths’ pulse thunders in his chest while he waits.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Please don’t ask me that, Keith. It was an accident.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“I need to know. It’s just that…” Keith stares down at his hands. “You felt good to me.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Everything about you feels good.</em>
</p><p class="p1">The confession punches the air from Keith’s lungs.</p><p class="p1"><em>I’ve never been selfish. </em>Shiro’s voice is impossibly small. <em>I didn’t know I could be, until you. Can you forgive me?</em></p><p class="p1">“Be selfish.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>What?</em>
</p><p class="p1">“Please.” Keith’s chest squeezes. “Please be selfish.”</p><p class="p1">It isn’t a word, what Keith hears then. More like a moan.</p><p class="p1">“I want this. I…” Keith twists his fingers through the leaves around him, reaching for comfort, for some assurance. “I’ve never felt this way. You make me feel… special, somehow. Like I’m yours. I can’t explain it.”</p><p class="p1"><em>You are special.</em> The leaves rustle in Keith’s fingers, curling as if to squeeze back. His heart leaps at the touch. Petal brush across his back where his clothes hang in tatters. <em>There’s no one else like you, not to me.</em></p><p class="p1">“I want to know you,” Keith says. “And I want you to know me. To <em>see</em> me.”</p><p class="p1">Leaves tremble between his fingertips, new blooms unfurling before his eyes. There’s a bit of vine twining around Keith’s ankle.</p><p class="p1">Keith’s lips tug into a grin. “Will you tell me what you were doing in my mind?”</p><p class="p1"><em>You make it sound sordid,</em> Shiro groans.</p><p class="p1">“I’m not, just. Describe it to me?”</p><p class="p1"><em>Keith.</em> Shiro’s voice strains. <em>I just wanted to reach out to you. I brought my magic closer and… closer. I’ve never done that before. </em></p><p class="p1">“What was it like?”</p><p class="p1">There’s a rush of pleasure in the air, coiling hot beneath Keith’s navel.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I didn’t understand at first. I felt your pulse start to race. Your back arched in your sleep and I couldn’t look away. When you moaned, I- I— Keith, what were you seeing? </em>
</p><p class="p1">“Butterflies.” The answer feels lacking, but it is the truth. “Hundreds of them, all around me, overwhelming me. And I was floating, like you were holding me up.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I am not the butterflies, Keith. </em>
</p><p class="p1">“I know that,” he scoffs, exasperated. “But. There was a feeling.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Did it feel like—</em>
</p><p class="p1">“Joy?”</p><p class="p1">Shiro hesitates. <em>Yes, that is… as good a word as any. I thought maybe I could let you see what I am, but Keith. I think you felt it instead.</em></p><p class="p1">“You feel incredible.” Keith cards his fingers through the grasses in long strokes. “You made me come, you know. And you didn’t even mean to. I think that makes you pretty talented,” Keith smirks.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>We could try that again.</em>
</p><p class="p1">The words rip Keith’s breath away, toes curling against the earth. When he still can’t find his voice, he nods so hard he feels dizzy.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>We can… take it slow this time. Make it last.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“Yes,” Keith gasps. “Shiro, yes.”</p><p class="p1">Wind whips across the meadow, tugging at Keith’s clothes.</p><p class="p1">“Is that you?”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>It is. Take this off for me?</em>
</p><p class="p1">Keith climbs to his knees in a hurry. Untying his sash, he rucks his tunic up overhead and tosses it aside. The sun is already warm on his skin and he’s growing hard so fast that his whole body throbs with it.</p><p class="p1"><em>Oh Keith,</em> Shiro breathes. <em>Look at you.</em></p><p class="p1">Keith flushes down his chest as his dick jumps in response. He tries to imagine Shiro’s gaze and wants to look back, but he isn’t sure which way to turn.</p><p class="p1">“Where are you, exactly?”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I’m right here, Keith. I’m… all around you.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“Wow.” Still on his knees, Keith reaches for a spire of snapdragons, clusters of peach and pink. “Are you right here?”</p><p class="p1">He gets his answer in the form of a shudder as he traces fingertips over the shapely buds.</p><p class="p1">“Oh, you are,” Keith sighs, bending to kiss the flowers. He tastes dew when he parts his lips.</p><p class="p1"><em>Keith. </em>Trumpet vines trail up his calves, gently squeezing before reaching for his thighs.</p><p class="p1">“How does it feel, touching me? Are you making yourself feel good?”</p><p class="p1">Shiro sighs, nearly exasperated. <em>I’m taking care of you right now.</em></p><p class="p1">“I assure you, it’s the very same thing.” Keith strokes his hands up over flower stalks, whatever he can reach. “Show me what excites you. What you want. It’s… what I want, too.”</p><p class="p1">Shiro slides a bit of vine between Keith’s legs, stroking over his taint and teasing his thighs apart. The breeze sighs over Keith’s skin and he shivers.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Let me know… how this feels.</em>
</p><p class="p1">Something smooth and firm brushes his hole. Keith gasps, head tipped back as he breathes through the wave of need.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Sensitive?</em>
</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, yes,” he squeaks out. “More.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Shhh, dear one. There’s time.</em>
</p><p class="p1">Sliding against his opening, Keith finally guesses at the shape of it, a tender coil of new fern, rolling open like one long lick of a velvety tongue. And Keith feels something else, too: heat coiling deep in his belly, and a feeling of lightness like his heart trying to fly out of his chest.</p><p class="p1">“Shiro,” he gasps. “Is that you?”</p><p class="p1"><em>It’s all me, Keith. </em>He feels the boom of his voice this time, deeper than before, richer like he’s curled very close to his ear, crowding close to Keith’s mind.</p><p class="p1">“I feel you!”</p><p class="p1"><em>We’re going slow this time,</em> Shiro answers. <em>So you can feel everything.</em></p><p class="p1">The flowers seem enormous, fantastical wherever they drag over his skin. He bucks his hips back into the pressure at his entrance, palms dropping to find solid ground with his hips tipped up in the air. An eager trumpet slides down his chest and gives Keith’s cock a long stroke.</p><p class="p1">Keith moans. He’s wound so tight he could already lose control. But he knows Shiro is still building him up; more is coming, if he can only hang on. He turns his face, kissing a poppy that just caressed his cheek.</p><p class="p1">His skin beads with sweat despite the breeze. Grateful as he is for the cooling wind, it’s nothing to stand up to the liquid heat sliding up his spine. Keith’s back bows, toes sinking into the verdant mat beneath him as pleasure rips through his body.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I’m closer now. You can feel me?</em>
</p><p class="p1">“—Yes,” Keith gasps. The voice is so much now, so loud in his mind.</p><p class="p1">Right before Keith’s eyes, the sweet bow of the trumpet flower is almost like a mouth, lips stretched open and waiting. It’s a lewd thought, but once it grips him he can think of nothing else. The fluted flower is deep, deep enough to take him in.</p><p class="p1">Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s sliding two fingers into the flower and brushing the dusty stamens with his fingertips.</p><p class="p1"><em>Oh,</em> Shiro gasps, tightening the vines at Keith’s thighs. The petals in his hand flush pinker at the tips.</p><p class="p1">“Need, I need,” Keith babbles softly. “Shiro, I—”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Take what you want, Keith. I am all yours.</em>
</p><p class="p1">He says it so sweetly, so devotedly, the timbre of his voice wafting another wave of heat through Keith’s whole body.</p><p class="p1">The flowers are all around him, flanking him and leaning closer. One sits poised below his hips, almost waiting for him. It’s easy to slip inside, pressing deeper into softness with a groan.</p><p class="p1"><em>Beautiful.</em> The awe in Shiro’s voice is overwhelming. He can’t help but feel how the vines tremble as Keith’s hips buck forward helplessly. <em>You’re so beautiful.</em></p><p class="p1">As he fucks into the flower, it moves against him, too. The tendrils teasing his entrance slip inside, just the barest hint of tips. The intrusion is so heady it has Keith seeing white.</p><p class="p1">“Shiro, more, please, I need- now—”</p><p class="p1">The tender shoots slide deeper, coiling into him and caressing his insides. Keith cries out even before the flower wrapped around his cock starts to squeeze. He has to look down to make sense of the sensation, feeling the pressure mount as the twist of petals tries to wring him out.</p><p class="p1">It’s going to work.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Let me taste you, sweetheart?</em>
</p><p class="p1">Keith shouts as he comes, head thrown back and sparks flying behind his eyelids.</p><p class="p1">Shiro murmurs soothing words. They probably aren’t nonsense, but all Keith makes out is the sweet feeling of that voice he’s grown to love.</p><p class="p1">As Keith gathers his senses, he registers the shade of cloud cover and the blades of grass smoothing down his back. He’s slumped onto his forearms, still buried deep in the flower he filled with come.</p><p class="p1"><em>You did so well, Keith. Incredible,</em> Shiro praises. <em>How do you feel?</em></p><p class="p1">Keith giggles, a small and bright sound that leaves Shiro laughing, too, in his wake. He feels giddy.</p><p class="p1">“I can’t believe you let me come on your pretty flowers.”</p><p class="p1"><em>Let you?</em> Shiro balks. <em>I seem to recall insisting that you do.</em> The flower slips away and Keith sighs as he slumps onto his side.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>There are plenty more flowers, you know. You could pollinate them all.</em>
</p><p class="p1">“Shiro!” Keith barks a laugh.</p><p class="p1"><em>What? The bees do it.</em> He laughs in Keith’s mind.</p><p class="p1">“NOT the same,” Keith grumbles, cheeks red and almost sore from smiling so much.</p><p class="p1"><em>Not the same at all,</em> Shiro agrees. <em>Definitely more fun when you do it.</em></p><p class="p1">“Hm,” Keith relent, eyes fluttering closed. “Maybe after a nap.”</p><p class="p1">The overgrown meadow bends around Keith, weaving a kind of fragrant nest that shades and shelters him, rattling in the breeze. Grasses slide between Keith’s fingers, gently squeezing. He squeezes back.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Thank you.</em>
</p><p class="p1">Keith huffs. “I should be thanking you.”</p><p class="p1"><em>Well this seems a silly thing to argue about,</em> Shiro points out, rustling the meadow playfully.</p><p class="p1">“Hey Shiro? Would you… kiss me again? Just until I fall asleep.”</p><p class="p1">Eyes closed, he feels petals brush across his brow and the line of his jaw. The one pressed to the corner of his mouth is his favorite.</p><p class="p1"><em>Sleep well, love, </em>Shiro whispers. <em>I’ll be here when you wake up.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/bioplast_hero"><b>twitter</b></a>! ❤️🖤 <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&amp;work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&amp;include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=10209319&amp;work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&amp;exclude_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=17504241&amp;work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=halloween+party&amp;work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=T&amp;work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bquery%5D=&amp;work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&amp;commit=Sort+and+Filter&amp;user_id=bioplast_hero">Other sheith by this author</a></p><p>I love comments of any kind, including emoji dances and keysmashes— all welcome. Thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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